If It Ain't Got That Swing
by Scruff the Rat
Summary: A series of drabbles detailing the moments shared between a kind old teapot and a gambling man. Elder Kettle x King Dice
1. Pennies From Heaven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cuphead. I also blame Nasyatkar from Tumblr for getting me hooked on this weird pairing.**

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Elder Kettle did not gawk often (he had life experience and his boys' antics to thank for that).

So imagine his wonder when Dice, the scoundrel Cup and Mug beat a while ago, asks him for a waltz. 'For old times' sake' as the younger fella coyly words the request.

Of course, Elder Kettle refuses at first—politely yet firmly. He's too wise to this cubic charlatan's smooth talk...until Dice pulls out a penny from one of his pockets, the sliver of copper pinched precariously between his white-gloved fingers and glinting like a playful wink.

"What's say to a wager then, Pops? Tails, I go. Heads, we dance."

So many questions could have—should have—been asked here. For reasons beyond him, Kettle could only think of one: "Why with an old piece of dining ware like me?"

The smugness of that façade slips for a moment, Dice taken back by the question, and Kettle sees the plea. Then he spots the faint scars lining the skin visible from the younger man's shirt cuffs.

Looking up again, he realizes the despair and yearning for relief, even as Dice hastily restores his mask. With the Devil's fall came Dice's as well and with it all the consequences that came with failing his boss. The man asking him for a dance is seeking escape—and from possibly the only person willing to give him exactly that.

With the same smile reserved for Cup and Mug whenever they've collected scrapes and cracks from their play, Kettle steps closer and takes the coin from Dice's hands, much to the other's shock, before flipping the coin himself.

It turns out heads after he catches it—a same-sided coin, just as he figured.

Kettle lets Dice have this victory anyway.

A little good fortune never hurt anyone.


	2. Once in a While

The ache. The ache of it all.

Giggles and chuckles; touches and caresses; whispers and promises.

So pleasant and awful, this relationship. So safe and dangerous.

An oddity just like them, a dice and a teapot. A paradox, just like the two of them.

Gentle and careful, salacious and reckless. Wise and humoring, fresh and vivacious.

Felt so much in the kisses they shared in the dark, one's hands on the handle, the other's cradling sharp corners.

Until Dice wakes in a silent casino, in the reality he traded for that dream, only disappointment to keep him company.

With a toothy grimace, he checks the clock above the pool table: four hours 'til opening time. One hour 'til his lackeys swarm in like locusts to get the joint ready for the morning suckers.

He whips up a cup of coffee with cream, ignoring the ache in his eyes, and then leans against one of the front windows to watch the pretty colors of sunrise tangle their way into the sky, drink in hand. Because for now he isn't King Dice.

He's just plain ol' regular Dice—and for a moment, he tricks himself into thinking _he's_ there beside him as well, taking in the heavenly display with that simple fondness that always sent the cube's heart a-fluttering.

Dice knows better. He knows it's just him, but he still had the memories to cling to. That was enough.

Besides, it felt nice to imagine his Honey Pot felt the same.


	3. Carelessly

King Dice never forgets a face.

He never forgets a customer either.

He especially never forgets _him_.

Not after how Dice promised to be 'back before you can blink', no longer the worthless lad dancing before an uncaring audience, nor the little nobody with naught a penny to his name.

He came through in the end, just not in the way his younger self would have anticipated (and perhaps even wanted—but the King was never one to admit ignorance).

He came back glossy and superior, proud and shameless, the perfect vale to hide the cracks and disillusionment.

A monster, a pitiful creature ruled by the will to survive, driven by the joy in stringing others into ruin. Everything the man he promised reviled.

And when that same man finally confronted him after all these years, seeking to show him the error of his ways and give him a way out, the words Dice spoke would've made his younger self want to strangle him.

"That's just how the dice rolls, Pops."

So no, King Dice never forgets a face.

Especially if it's the face of a love he's disappointed.


	4. Don't Be That Way

Kettle could only shiver.

Though he knows Dice had long been second aide to the Devil himself, he never questioned whether that position entailed supernatural abilities of its own.

Now he fully believes.

He had returned from a long afternoon of gardening, hoping to spend a quiet afternoon in his rocking chair. Only to discover none other than King Dice himself lounging on the living room couch, in _his_ house! Of all the nerve!

Elder Kettle had barely enough time to question the scoundrel's intentions when the lithe gambler leapt up and laid on him flattery thicker than pea soup. What had startled the teapot even more had been the sheer sincerity in those words.

Words that Dice truly and utterly meant for he truly desired him.

Desire Kettle can feel from the man's breath on his back, teasing his metal flesh...

From the man's voice purring in his ear, tempting him with silken words wrapped in sin...

From those soft gloved hands snaking down his body, seeking the key to send the older man to his knees...

And it all feels wonderful...

But it's all still wrong!

Dice lives for trickery and ruin whereas Kettle has always stood against such depravities. The elder man's glory days of knighthood stands as proof of that difference. He has every right to pummel Dice right then and there for invading his home, for taking advantage of him, for thinking he could just have him so easily.

Instead a pleasured groan escapes as Kettle finds his body leaning into the sinewy figure entangling him, sultry voice snaking into his mind and lulling his aged mind into a haze.

For all the wrong happening here, for all the danger this situation poses, he never pulls away from the presence having its way with him. He never protests against the ministrations being done to him.

How long ago since the last time he received this kind of attention?

Since someone gave his body such tenderness, made him arch and moan and wish for more, more, more?

Too long it seems; he takes to Dice's caresses and tugs like a drunken fish at the mercy of a lecherous ocean.

He only hopes the boys don't come home any time soon.


	5. I'm Getting Sentimental Over You

Folks believed the Devil had no heart, let alone gave a damn about anybody.

Not an entirely invalid assumption.

The fellow _was_ Satan, he who rebelled. Even in his corruption, he viewed himself above the mortals, free to string their fates along as he pleased because hey, a fella's gotta get his kicks somehow. And he certainly did not accept slacking either lest any of his underlings fancied a dip in hot lava.

No wonder he let young Dice under his tutelage back then.

They were cut from the same cloth, him and him, two rebels who wanted more, got dealt 'justice' in turn, and took lip from nobody. The swindling, the lying, and the deception: their little way of snubbing all the goody-goody mush in the world and reminding those snobs who's boss.

At least until those two punks mucked everything up.

And _geez_ did they screw up Dice good. Even Dev got taken back a little after his minions carried the crumpled manager to him, letting him get an eyeful of the poor schmoe: that once pristine purple suit torn, head cracked, and face scratched and beaten. Hell, even his _gloves_ looked downright depressed.

Now Dev had as many things to deny as he did boast (if not more), but deep down he felt just the slightest, itty-bitty iota of pity for Dice. As much of a no-good lackey as he was, Dev had gotten so used to having him around and discussing new victims that he couldn't bring himself to completely _not_ care about the man's sorry condition.

Perhaps because they were the closest things to 'friends' either them had left – and yes Devil would kill anyone stupid enough to blurt that tidbit out. Still, Dice wasn't the first greedy soul to be his right hand and he'd be far from the last. And with the casino riding on top-quality, its reputation would sink if folks found out its manager got beat by a bunch of kids.

In the end, it was either let Dice stick around out of companionship and let the casino go kaput or let the guy loose and save face.

So out of 'mercy', Dev told him this: "Get better then get out."

"Wh...Wait!" In his haste to sit up, Dice winced at the ache in his side. "You're laying me off?! W-What should I do? Where the hell would I even go?"

Dev shrugged his hairy shoulders. "Some old squeeze you're still soft for might take ya in."

Oh look, the idiot's blushing now. Did he really think he could hide those gushy lovesick eyes from somebody who literally lived off of reading others' desires? The only reason Dev never called him out for it before, let alone punished him, was that Dice had enough sense to reserve that sentimentality for after work.

In any case, whatever Dice did afterwards was none of Dev's business.

And that's how the Devil left Dice, the loser cradling his head out of mounting despair, mending and lost.

A week later, he caught wind of some rumors about someone staying with that old cast iron pot and the twerps—and if he'd bothered to pay enough attention, he would've thought the smartly dressed man with the ghost of a youthful smile sounded familiar.


End file.
